Are We Crazy? Probably :)

I know we all continue to experience firsts throughout our lives. Over the past 10 months, with my kids, I have tried to document every first that I notice so that I can make up a little for the undocumented firsts of their past lives. I know that it won’t be enough, but I am hoping that when the day comes that each child starts to mourn the holes and gaps in their early lives that they will be at least a little comforted by the documentation that I have kept for them. I want to leave the impression that from the time I took charge they were loved with the greatest love possible.

I know how much I long to know about their past lives–I can only imagine what the wondering will one day be like for each nino. I long to know what their toddler years were like, who watched them take their first steps, who was there in those beginning weeks to see them smile and coo for the first time, who changed their diapers and perhaps rocked them to sleep. I long to know if they were adored, merely tolerated, or somewhere inbetween. I would give anything to know where all of the nics and scars on the boys’ bodies came from. Whenever I trace their skin, I think of that. I wonder who the first person was to truly bond to each nino. Were they read to, were they bathed regularly, were they soothed when hurting, were they truly loved?

But for now, and maybe forever, all I have are the firsts that we create together.

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1. So the other day, Ezzy came out of the shower very perplexed. I asked her what was wrong, and she said, “Mom, I was in the shower and I looked down and my feet were white (pointing to my skin) but my legs were brown.” She was laughing with delight, and then I started laughing because I realized that she had never had a tan line before. We talked for a few minutes about what a tan line is and how the sun makes our skin darker. She thought it was the weirdest coolest thing ever. She spent the next few minutes checking out her bathing suit tan lines in the mirror. Apparently, the girl had never before worn a swimsuit, let alone been out in the sun long enough to notice her skin color changing. Can you imagine? AMAZING. She is eight years old now, and loving her variety of swimwear. :)

2. Wompy learned how to read his first few words this week including “I” and “see.”

3. Last week, the ocean was a huge first, which I blogged about on the family blog. I still can’t get over the wonder of it all. I mean, I know there are lots of people who don’t see the ocean until they are much older, but it is different because these kids never had any expectation about ever seeing something so amazing. In fact, they didn’t even really know what it was until I explained it to them the week before. Imagine?

4. Yesterday, I taught the kids Yahtzee for the first time. And they did surprisingly well. In fact, Wompy kicked our butts. Danny really gets it, and I was able to see their different mathematical skill levels come out as we played the game. Although they’ve been taught Chutes and Ladders, Candy Land, etc…this is their first “real” game that I took the time to teach. And now, they are begging to play again. YES!

5. DICE–when we were playing Yahtzee I realized that the kids had never actually played with dice before. We take for granted that the dotted symbols on the dice are known by everyone. I don’t remember having to “learn” what the number on each dice looked like because I had watched my parents play boardgames from the time I was born. Just another little thing I never thought would be a first. And just in one day, Ezzy and Danny know what the numbers are without having to count the dots. Nikki is getting there. Wompy decided to play with blocks instead. :) 

6. First Fruit Pizza–Wompy’s birthday on Monday night.

I took the kids out to eat at Cafe Rio last night (shhh, Adam was away for a Scout training). I am so impressed with our eating out skills that have developed–I only spent $15 for the five of us!!! Anyway, we had a good time eating and talking and teasing each other. I noticed a lady a couple of tables over stealing glances here and there. I am pretty used to that now because people naturally wonder what our story is. I figured she was just curious about our situation. So we went on eating, and she went on staring.

As she was on her way out, she stopped at our table(s) and said, “I just want to tell you that I have so enjoyed watching you enjoy your children. It is so refreshing, and I thank you for the opportunity.” I told her thank you (slightly embarrassed, of course) and told her that I appreciated the compliment. She and her husband left, and I teared up just a little because she did not preface her compliment by asking if the kids were adopted/fostered/babysat/fill in the blank. She complimented me based on what she saw–and she clearly saw that I was their mom, regardless of our situation. That was a first for me, one that I will not soon forget.

She did not witness perfectly behaved little robots, nor did she witness little terrorists. She just witnessed a mom who was engaged and happy. Her compliment, after watching me handle dinner time with four shining ninos, gave me more confidence that I am doing a great job.

Adam thought I was acting weird when I rolled over Saturday night and told him I was not going to stand up at church on Sunday. He also took that to mean that we were not ever going to have a happy carefree Mother’s Day. I explained to him that my stand for injustice did not mean that I wasn’t happy, that I wasn’t excited to spend Sunday with my family, that I wasn’t looking forward to hearing my children sing at church. It simply meant that I refused to forget.

Remaining seated when the women were asked to stand was the only way that I could think to support and remember all of those who are still longing, and those who are still hoping. I remember what it was like to sit there, when I was dumb enough all those years ago to actually attend on Mother’s Day. The worst part of the service was always the end. If I did not stand, people would tell me I was a mother in spirit, or something else lame, and badger me until I stood. If I did stand, I would feel like a pretender, as if all eyes were on me feeling sorry for me. And the entire service, I thought about nothing else–just the decision to stand or not to stand. I suppose exiting is always an option, but that is even more lame. Now, after years of practice, I really don’t care what people think about my decision. And, truth be told, not many people notice, unless they are specifically looking. It is mostly in my mind. Of course, poor Mindy H. looked so confused when I did not want the gift she was passing down the row. Who could blame her. :) Whatev!

For me, enduring sappy mom-centered talks, and listening to the children sing (which was very sweet), was more than enough. The rest of my day was way better than church. I know that old habits die hard. I know that. We will see if, and how, I change over the next few years. But my current stance is that I would prefer to spend Mother’s Day away from church with my husband and children.

For me, it was just weird. And I really did try!!!

It happened today.  I have been waiting for this moment, and it finally arrived. You know, that feeling of utter helplessness, as if time has stopped right in front of you while the world around you keeps swirling and twirling? And no matter how hard you try you cannot make it stop? I thought I might not feel it this time. Not with this friend’s baby. Not with this experience. Not this time.

But it did come, and caught me completely off guard. It happened at Little League. Adam “got the text.” Finally, baby arrived safe and sound, mama too. Great! I sent a quick text and went back to reading. As I read, it hit me. My mind started reeling. I thought of my dear friends welcoming their long-awaited son into the world. I remembered all the times I had pictured that moment for us, and all the times it never actualized. I saw husband looking on wife, as if she had given him the world. I envisioned the bonding that moment affords, and it was almost more than I could bear. I felt myself fading. I thought for sure I was going to pass out.

I am glad that I had the ninos’ interest to motivate me to the hospital that night. I did not want to miss it, but after the experience earlier in the evening, I would not have gone otherwise. It was unbelievably hard for me…..harder than I expected. Of course, there was no pretense on my part that it would be a walk in the park, but I also did not expect the good old feelings of loss and grief to surface so quickly. The tears started as soon as I hugged Robert, although I did keep it together while at the hospital. Unfortunately, the 40 minute drive home allowed much time to think and to cry.

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Well, it has been a week now and I have realized where my jealousies lie, and why. The good news…I am not jealous of Baby. I am not jealous of Jaime. I am certainly not jealous of the pregnancy or the labor or the breastfeeding. The bad news…I am so very jealous of The Husband factor. As I think about it, this has been the only source of true jealousy with any of my sisters’ and friends’ pregnancies.

I am jealous of how he holds the baby with gentleness and reverence. How he carries him around the house not letting him out of his sight not even when he showers. How he now looks differently at his wife, and always will. How he smiles with that knowing smile that “He’s The Dad.” I am most jealous of the apparent and incredible joy that this tiny little life has brought to my friend’s husband! Since Adam and Robert are close friends, I see it and feel it more clearly. What do I see? I see with Robert what could have been with Adam. And even today, it breaks my heart into a thousand tiny pieces to know that I might never get to see my husband in that light. To give him that joyful gift.

My loving husband offered his shoulder after our hospital visit. He sweetly reminded me that he felt more bonded and closer to me during our first two weeks in Bogota. I appreciated his meager attempt. But he, of all people, knows it is not the same, not by a long shot. Our  “bonding time” has taken place in the midst of tough love, language barriers and paperwork. For some crazy reason, I think that bonding with, and over, a baby is a little different. If I did not love Adam so much, maybe I would not feel this loss so intently.

Shouldn’t I be grateful for what I have? I mean the ninos are now woven into our lives, our families, our legacy. We wouldn’t trade them for 100 billion dollars (give or take:). And yet, I still–and probably always will–mourn our losses when times like these arise. There are no conclusions or resolutions here, just feelings. Honest emotion.

Zackary has blessed his parents’ lives, and I am so grateful to be a part of the experience.

The one year mark must be approaching. I feel so good about mothering these days. Even on a morning like this morning–Ezzy is crying in her room, Juan P. is cleaning up his drenched pull-ups and pajamas, and Danny is pranking his sisters at the breakfast table–I feel great! As the effects of survival mode slowly wear off, I find myself settling into my own skin. Peaceful.

Maybe it is experience, maybe it is time, maybe it is simply the magical year of 33, but I feel much stronger these days. Is stronger even the right word? I am sure the added strength I feel is somewhat corollary to becoming a mom. But also, life is just better in my thirties! It is a similar feeling as to when I married Adam. I was 27 and life was pretty darn good. In fact, I could not imagine being any more fulfilled. This beautiful person came along, however, and filled up a part of me that had not existed before. Suddenly, life got better–in a blink.

We always hear that life gets sweeter as we age. In our juvenile brains, and in a society where the newest of anything is valued, we wonder how old(er) could possibly equal better. It seems counter-intuitive. And yet, at 33, I finally get it. I have entered into that wonderful phase of life where outside validation has little impact on the decisions I make, or how I feel after making those decisions. My peer group does not influence me like it used to. My confidence in how I parent, how I spend my time and my money, and how I treat my spouse is solid. I don’t care if people think we are weird for resisting television, wanting to homeschool, etc… It doesn’t matter to me because I know what is right for me and my children. So yeah, I am stronger.

I was on auto-pilot for the first three years of my thirties. But year 33 has found me. I literally feel myself hitting my stride. And I am so pleased to be exactly the person I envisioned being at this age. My children look different than what I expected. I can’t fit into my wedding dress (yet). I live in the desert–yuck! But the person that I am on the inside…what I value, how I act….is exactly who I want to be.

I love being thirty-something!!! If my thirties are this good, I can’t wait for my forties.

I saved this post for far too long. Now I have an appropriate place to post it. :)

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To no one in particular,

I am quite sure that your slight remarks, quick roll of the eyes, and obtuse views of my parenting are due to the fact that you are completely incompetent at parenting yourself. If you think I am too structured, too strict, too hands-on, that is fine. I know it is completely counter-intuitive for you who takes no responsibility. If you have a problem with my expectations for my children, please feel free to talk to me in private.

Heaven knows, you would not want me to talk about your parenting in front of everyone…like how your children are starved for structure and attention because you cannot seem to get off of My Space, Facebook, U-Tube, whatever! Or how your children are complete terrorist having no consistent consequences EVER for their behavior. 

Contrary to your view of the world, children do not need another friend–they need a parent. They need structure. They need engagement. They need a mother who models strong moral character and sacrifice. They need a teacher. But hey, who I am to know anything? I mean, I have only “been a mom” for five months (so now it’s been nine :). I never thought I would use this line because I have hated it for years. But you have no clue! And just as I have no idea what it is like to dodge responsibilty my entire life, while having multiple children in the interim, you have absolutely no idea! 

If you think you can do a better job at raising four adopted children, I invite you to spend a week in my home, solo. You’ll need to be engaged 24 hours a day. You’ll need to actually do housework and laundry, keep the family budget buzzing, and cook dinner every night. You’ll need to practice letters, sounds, and words with all of the children every day after homework time. You will need to juggle four children chirping in your ear after school that they need your help with this or that or the other. You will need to go to the park and watch the kids ride their bikes outside–yes, you will actually have to play with them.

You will need to deal with Juan P’s tantrums firmly. You will have to actually say “no!” You will need to be off of the computer most of the day. You will need to spend your free time giving attention to each child–reassuring each of them every single day that they are loved and wanted. You will need to run interference every few minutes. You will need to get used to not having TV. Aside from normal kid stuff, you will need to monitor and correct food issues, intimacy issues, bonding and attachment issues, language barrier issues, etc… And you will need to put extra time into a thriving loving marriage so that it stays as strong as possible.

Good Luck!!!!

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Okay, I feel better now. Thanks for listening.

Wrote this a few weeks ago over  on the family blog.

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Upon returning from Bogota, we received the ninos’ Certificates of Citizenship from  USCIS–very important documents. Check!  We were informed by more than one source that before we could apply for social security cards (which we need in order to claim the children on our 2008 taxes) we needed to get the kids’ Certificates of Foreign Birth from the Nevada Secretary of State. So we did that, recently in fact. Check! I even had the paperwork overnighted on our FedEx account both ways so that we could have it expedited.

Today, I finally applied for social security cards, which was an adventure. Actually, my number was called in a timely fashion. I smiled at the lady behind the glass window as I plunked the stack of 10 or so stuffed manila envelopes down on the counter. She gave me that look, you know the one. The “oh boy, here we go” look. Don’t worry, I am so used to it by now. I was the employee’s first International Adoption case so things went very slowly, which was totally fine. I told her I didn’t mind being her guinea pig, if she didn’t mind that my two sons were playing with naked Barbie dolls behind me (hey, at least they were trying to put the clothes back on).

The annoyances arose as she asked for help from her supervisor. I won’t bore you with the long of it. Just imagine that person in your office or at church or on the PTA who not only thinks they know everything, but is ’so sure’ that they try to make you feel badly in the process to validate their own assumptions. Yeah! I just smiled politely (as I ground my teeth inside of my mouth), and asked them to tell me exactly what documents they needed to move the process along.

For those readers moving along in the international adoption process, here are two helpful pieces of info I found out today:

1. Certificates of Foreign Birth are not needed to apply…..as long as you have:

a.) cert of citizenship

b.) original birth cert w/your last name

c.) adoption decree

d.) child’s passport with immigration visa

Now this is accurate for kids coming in on an IR-3 visa only–not sure about other immigration statuses.

2. If you are applying for more than one child at a time, the SSA will not issue cards sequentially. This means that if you are on a deadline, for example, trying to file a tax return, make sure that you give yourself enough time. Our children’s applications will be filed every two working days, which means that I only received a receipt for my oldest, today. Juan P.’s app will not be put in the system until next Friday at the earliest.

It looks like we might have to file an extension after all. :)

So my best friend is pregnant. And we’re not talking a little pregnant. We are talking bursting boobies, peeing constantly, going to have the little guy any day pregnant. I haven’t blogged much about my personal experience with her pregnancy because 1. this is a sacred experience for her and her husband, which I have done my best to honor, and 2. I haven’t wanted to jinx the good luck she has had with this pregnancy.

It seems like just yesterday that she called me in Bogota terrified and sobbing. I will never forget that moment. Jena and Brian were trying their best to wrangle the wild beasts (that really is what they were at the time) into bed so I could step out on the balcony and take the phone call. It was rainy and dark and cold, and I could hear the franticness in her voice. I knew those emotions and thoughts all too well, and I felt her desperation through the phone. It killed me to know that my house was just down the street, but I was thousands of miles away.

The realization of another pregnancy left us both fairly faithless that it would develop into something miraculous. I am not ashamed to admit that. When you have experienced miscarriage after miscarriage, your first thought isn’t “Woohoo, I am pregnant again.” It is, instead, ”Oh crap, here we go again. Are you kidding me?” We end up checking ourselves every hour for the inevitable spots of blood. We remember the physical pain, and emotional anguish, of all the grief we have felt before.

And yet, we still try. Why do we try? Because we are believers. And because faith and hope are tightly and inseparably intertwined. So when we feel like our faith is almost depleted, those little glimmers of hope–however shiny and tiny–pick us up and push us on. Hope that something miraculous could eventually happen. Hope that tomorrow is always better than today. Hope that God knows us individually and is keenly aware of our most righteous desires. Now, eight months from that phone call, we are hanging baby clothes, having baby showers, and sprinting happily toward the baby finish line. A true miracle. A true strengthening of faith.

For me, there have been moments of jealousy, of course. There has been some sadness for our own fertility hopes unfulfilled. But those moments have been surprisingly few, actually. Part of it is due to being so busy with our little adopted sunshines. Part of it is me consciously deciding to be happy, no matter what. Part of it is the ability I have to talk to my friend…there is no pretense between us that everything is always okay!

But also, I am just different now than two years ago. I am so grateful that I purposely allowed my recent trials to refine me and to strengthen me. I can’t wait to hold Baby Lea for the first time, truly. I can’t wait to cuddle him, smother him, and spoil him. And I know that the allowance of these feelings are only due to the compassion and strength I have gained from miscarriage and adoption. Look at what I would be missing out on, if I had allowed infertility to consume me. I am so grateful that my faith continues to be strengthened by wonderful experiences such as Jaime’s pregnancy.

And it is not a moment too soon, since all of my friends have decided to be pregnant at the same time. Blech!

And it feels so good. I have decided that this is something I need to do for me, and for others. I noticed that my last post here was in January. Obviously, we have updated on the family blog regularly in that time, but it still feels like I have been gone from adoption blogging. Today, I am going to repost two of my recent rants from the family blog here. I feel like this space should be their permanent home.

Recently, as things have calmed to a lull around here, I have lit my own fire to seek out more Colombian specific adoption blogs, and other adoption blogs that deal with real day-to-day adoption issues. I want to always stay connected to our adoption process, and to those who fight the fertility fight. Blogging helps me keep that focus. Blogging allows me to share our story–I know the kids will appreciate it one day. Blogging, in some weird way, makes me be more honest about what really goes on around here. :) Blogging affords me opportunities to talk about fertility, and our continued struggles.

I know there are things I can/should be doing to help our little ones continue to heal, but when things are running relatively smoothly it is difficult to make myself get moving on it. I know that blogging about it helps me stay motivated. I feel much more brave when I blog. I miss the honest and non-sugarcoated posts of my past. So, here we go!!!

 Oh, and after months (years at this point) of complaining/whining from our beloved friends and family, we have made it easier for you to comment. You do not have to register anymore–or remember your password.

You can thank me later. :)

For those cyber friends who follow this blog and for newbies searching for an adoption story…..we are currently posting on our family site: http://www.ourlittlemcfamily.com Our full adoption story and archives, however, remain here. Please feel free to use this site as a tool in your personal search for information, answers, and comfort!

It is more difficult for me to write a goodbye on this post. I mean, you *adoption site* have been my buddy, my confidant, and my venting post for over a year now. When I couldn’t sleep or I couldn’t believe the words that had come out of someone’s mouth you were there for me to scribble on. And when we held our children for the very first time in Bogota, you allowed us to share it with the world. WOW–I’m totally crying right now. 

And, who knows when we’ll be ready to start the adoption process all over again. But when we do, the journey will be housed here. :)